A CHAIR SCREECHED against the kitchen floor, and Amara knew Philip was finally leaving. Her hands shook as she stood, holding tightly to the table beside her. Tears began to pool in her eyes as she thought about what she’d overheard—about her mother... the gambling... life as she knew it.

Her entire body trembled as she walked back into the kitchen. “I’ll do it,” she said.

“Amara!” her father shouted.

Philip was gleeful, throwing his head back in laughter. When he straightened, he looked at her, and what she saw in his eyes was anything but humor. Amara’s stomach coiled in disgust—in fear.

“It’s done then,” he said. “I wille back for you.”

That was the first promise Philip Batiste made to her.

AMARA LET OUT a long sigh as she cleaned the last table. It had been a long workday at Anna’s, the little restaurant her uncle owned and had named after her mom. The days were long and her feet always hurt, but the pay was good, and it helped her stay independent. That was important to her—the independence. Her parents had a lot going on in their lives. She didn’t want to add to the burden, and she liked being able to pay for her own things. Paying for her own things meant that her parents wouldn’t meddle in her business, which they often did. She was an only child, only daughter, at that, and often felt like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Amara couldn’t even fathom what it would have been like to be a boy and an only child to her parents.

As it was, the idea of the only daughter of two wealthy individuals working at a restaurant was unheard of in theirmunity, as were a lot of other things, which was why all of her neighbors’ houses contained more secrets than a confessional. All...